


Silly Love Songs

by pixie_rings



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Allura Ship Week 2017, Books, Dates, Digital Art, F/M, Gift Fic, Grief/Mourning, Memories, One Shot Collection, Storytelling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-19 04:24:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11305620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixie_rings/pseuds/pixie_rings
Summary: A series of one shots for Allura Ship Week 2017! Completely random, completely Shallura, and completely adorable!June 25th: Sparkly ThingsJune 26th: AlteaJune 27th: MemoriesJune 28th: FamilyJune 29th: Grief





	1. June 25th - Sparkly Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Braincoins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Braincoins/gifts).



> Whew, it's about time I actually started writing properly again. Also, all these fics are belong to my dear friend Braincoins/Socks, who deserves them. Happy belated birthday!

He wakes her up with a brief kiss and a wild grin she isn’t used to seeing on him, but she’s learnt that Shiro has a youthful streak the other Paladins don’t often get to see. She does, however, get to see it, and she loves it. It is the side that gives her the insatiable lover and the sweet, funny friend, the side she adores (though, of course, she loves every facet of him she knows, and each new one she discovers).

“Get dressed,” he says, his tone strangely excited, and she wonders why.

“What’s all this about?” she asks, slipping from the covers and reaching for her gown. She notices, with surprise, that he’s wearing his armour.

“Maybe something a little more… practical?” he suggests. Her fingers falter, and she raises an eyebrow at him.

“You’re taking me somewhere, I presume?” she says with a hint of amused suspicion, opening the sliding hidden door of her wardrobe and rummaging around for her combat suit, easily slipping it on like she’s done a thousand times before.

The moment she steps from the wardrobe, Shiro’s face is an endearing shade of pink. She laughs as he bites his lip.

“You’ve seen me in this a hundred times!” she says, a little incredulously.

“You’re always so pretty,” he says, sounding breathless. She giggles again, stepping closer to him, pressing her hands to his chest.

“It does wonders for my self-esteem when you look at me like that,” she says, and he leans down to kiss her, just as she wanted. His lips are soft, his hands broad on her waist, and she loves it when he kisses her, so reverent, yet so certain. She hopes she kisses back with the same intent.

When they part, he takes her hand, the mischievous grin back on his face. “C’mon!”

She lets him lead her along the corridors of the castle, trusting him to never guide her wrong even in such a silly moment as this. She can feel giddiness bubbling in her belly, excitement and anticipation – because, and she can tell from the low lights of late nightcycle, he would not have woken her this early were it not important.

They reach the Black Lion’s hangar, and the Lion lowers her head, allowing them entrance. Which means they must be leaving the castle.

“What is all this about?” she asks, using a little of her strength to halt him. He looks embarrassed now, as if he’s been caught doing something naughty. She likes the look on him: the slight flush, the way his hand rubs the back of his neck, the arch of his shoulders. He’s sweet like this, and it reminds her that he is indeed still young, despite the years his experiences have placed upon him.

“Um… it’s a surprise?” he says, tentative, as if he’s worried she won’t agree to it. It breaks her heart to have to remind him that she trusts him, effortlessly, wholeheartedly, completely. She smiles reassuringly, rising up on her toes to kiss him again.

“I’ll wait, then,” she assures him, and with a giggle skips up into the Black Lion’s cockpit.

Shiro sits in the pilot seat, the console before him illuminates in bright purple, and he eyes her, one eyebrow raised. He clears his throat, glancing at his lap, and she bursts into a fit of giggles.

“Fine!” she concedes, unable to even pretend to be annoyed, settling in his lap, swinging her legs over the arm of the seat. He nuzzles into her hair, chuckling foolishly, a sound she loves to hear, and with his hands on the control sticks and the hangar door opening for them, the Black Lion runs and rises out into the sky.

They’ve settled on an uninhabited planet for a while, to catch a breath (which they can’t really afford, but desperately need), and it’s rather lovely. Different from Altea and, according to the Paladins, to Earth as well, but also just familiar enough to be comforting. But Shiro doesn’t land on the surface of the planet: rather, he takes to the sky, burning through the atmosphere until they breach it and have made it beyond.

Out here, it is quiet. There are two moons, small ones, ahead, one a noxious green and the other sort of white. It is the second one that Shiro heads to. The satellite is too small for its own atmosphere, but Shiro lands the Lion with practiced ease.

“Right, here we are,” he says. Allura stands, completely lost at sea and yet still excited, and waits for Shiro to open the hatch atop his Lion’s head. He pulls himself up first, then offers a hand to her, which she takes, allowing herself to be hoisted up. He is nowhere near as strong as an Altean or a Galra, but there is a certain thrill to the knowledge that he must make an effort to take her weight, even though it is minimal. It’s silly, but it almost feels that much more special when he carries her, knowing that it causes some exertion on his part.

She chases away these silly notions and looks around at the surface of the moon. There are dull spires of some sort of mineral, pallid and perhaps somewhat translucent. Not far beyond them is the planet, purple and green and quite lovely, stretching over the moon’s horizon. Shiro sits atop the Black Lion’s head, legs dangling, and she sits next to him, snuggling against his side, enjoying the heaviness of his arm on her shoulders. It’s awkward, with their helmets on, but not uncomfortable.

“So,” she murmurs, voice soft as if in fear talking too loudly might break some perfect spiderweb moment, “what are we here for?”

“Shh,” he says, squeezing her shoulder. “You’ll see in a minute.”

The planet they’ve chosen orbits a star much like the sun of the Paladins’ Earth, unlike Altea’s twin suns, and as they wait, it begins to peer over the horizon of the planet.  
Then, with a dazzling glint, its light touched the surface of the moon, and Allura’s breath is stolen from her.

She can do nothing but gasp as the pale spires of crystal are lit with a thousand sunbeams, bouncing from column to column in a magnificent light show. They sparkle, they glimmer, they glint with a myriad of refractions, rainbows spilling over the moon’s surface, dancing like light on water but in too many colours to name.

Allura raises her hand, and the light skips over her gloves. She kicks her legs, and the sunshards ripple over them. She laughs, joyous and full of wonder, clapping her hands in delight. She turns to Shiro, and she sees the light spill over him in a hundred pieces, so lovely, illuminating him, making him even more handsome and blinding than he already is.

“Shiro, this is…” She’s lost for words. It’s breath-taking, beyond description, something so beautiful she could never have dreamt it, even in her wildest flights of fancy. She gets to her feet, spinning on herself to take in the entirety of the moon’s surface, every flicker and flutter of light and colour.

Shiro stands beside her, takes her hand again and twirls her, laughing more happily than she has heard for a long time, and it’s contagious. She falls against him with her own laugh, feeling more full of joy than ever, and she looks up, meeting his eyes through the blue tint of their visors. Their helmets don’t allow them to kiss, and she desperately wishes she could, but pressing their visors together will have to suffice until she can kiss him senseless later.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, and he hums in response.

“You needed it,” he says. He doesn’t elaborate, but she’s been so nervous, so scared recently, and she knows exactly why he did it. Not for the first time, she wonders what she could have done to deserve a lover so caring, so loving, so sweet and kind and wonderful, to not only notice her anxiety but to try and help her through it. Tears prick the corners of her eyes as they flutter closed, and she sighs.

“Thank you, _arlnath_ ,” she says again, winding her arms around his chest and holding him close, feeling safe and happy with the weight of his arms around her.


	2. June 26th - Altea

“Are… are you _sure_ you don’t want to take Coran instead of me?”

Allura sighed to herself. Shiro had been nervous about this diplomatic mission ever since she’d told him about it, and while she could understand it… she also couldn’t. She shook her head.

“The Formorians care greatly about hierarchy. I can’t take Coran, he’s not my equal.”

“I’m technically not your equal either,” Shiro mumbled. “I mean… you’re our commander.”

Allura fixed him with a steely, unimpressed gaze, her eyebrows high. “Don’t be foolish.” She stepped closer to him, placing her hands on his chest, using him as leverage to kiss him. “You are the Head of Voltron, the Black Paladin and my lover. You are most certainly my equal.” Her expression turned mischievous, all bitten lip and sultry eyes. “Especially in bed.”

Shiro’s cheeks turned a brilliant shade of pink and she pulled away, giggling. She yelped when Shiro grabbed her round the waist, pulling her back against him and nipping the tip of her ear.

“You’re a menace.”

“You love it!”

He kissed the side of her neck, and hummed his agreement. She melted into his embrace, reaching back to weave her fingers in his fringe and hold him closer, tilting her head to the side to allow him more room. He continued to scatter kisses over her skin, his hands sliding down her body to settle on her hips.

“We should… we should be preparing…” she breathed, even as she eyed the bed longingly. He hummed again, and the low rumble sent shiver through her. _Oh, damn it all._

She turned in his arms and pulled him into a searing kiss, guiding him back. He chuckled against her lips and fell back onto the bed with her. There would be time to pack later.

* * *

The moment they set down with the Black Lion on Formoria, Allura found it hard to breathe. Her chest tightened as the First Elder greeted them, welcoming them to the planet. She closed her eyes, allowing herself a mere tick to compose herself, before smiling warmly and accepting the salutation.

“We are honoured to be here, First Elder,” she said.

She noticed Shiro looking at her, traces of worry in the crease of his brow and the tilt of his lips, and for the first time, she ignored him.

* * *

“It’s good we get to share a room,” Shiro said, placing his helmet on the dresser and looking around in admiration. Allura sat on the bed, trying to ignore her surroundings, to quell the rippling memories that lapped at the edge of her mind. It was all too… _familiar_ , and it hurt.

“Allura?”

Shiro’s voice dragged her back into the world, the warmth of his hand on her knee enough to anchor her to reality. She wasn’t entirely sure if she was grateful or not. She smiled, trying for reassuring but only really managing strained. He wasn’t buying it.

“You’ve been distant since we arrived,” he said. He reached up to cup her cheek tenderly, and she felt a swell of deep affection in her chest, the gentleness of his touch waging war with the sense of emptiness inside. “What’s wrong?”

She took a deep breath, pressing her hand against his, leaning into his touch. “Everything’s… everything is _fine_ …”

Shiro sighed. “Everything is _not_ fine. You talk to me about my problems, why can’t I talk to you about yours?”

Allura opened her eyes, meeting Shiro’s grey ones. He was right, of course: she was so used to being strong and unwavering… She let out a long, trembling breath and bent forward, pressing her forehead to his.

“This place is too much like Altea,” she said, her voice quivering as she struggled to keep the wave of emotion from overpowering her. Everywhere she turned, there was something just close enough to home to remind her of what she’d lost, what she could no longer go back to. The clothing, the people’s faces, the architecture, the nature, even the twin suns… it hurt. It hurt to know something like this existed, and wherever she looked, she would see flashes of familiarity, echoes of towering cities of shimmering stone and metal, colourful buntings and flags and banners, the laughter of children, the debates in the College courtyard, the roar of the castleship’s engines as it left for the yearly change of capital…

Shiro wound his arms around her, and she clung to him, her eyes shut tight against the tears. “It’s ok, Allura. It’s ok. You can cry, you can grieve. We have time.”

So she wept. She wept into his neck, her shoulders heaving, her chest bursting with sorrow, with loss, with emptiness. She would never have Altea back. It was lost, lost forever, and throughout the universe there were places which would remind her of home, of what was gone and would never be found again.

She cried for what felt like forever, until all she could feel was exhaustion. She pulled back from his embrace, back straight, head tilted back to stare at the ceiling. Her face was tight with salt from her tears, her eyes ached, her heart hurt. But her hands in Shiro’s kept her grounded, focused. He was there.

She lowered her head to look at him, and smiled, small and weak but sincere. “Your knees must be awfully sore,” she mumbled, reaching up to rub the soreness from her eyes. Shiro chuckled, soft and sweet.

“Yeah, but it’s ok.” He kissed the knuckles of the hand he still held. “It’s ok.”

“We have a banquet to attend tonight,” Allura remembered with a sigh. She allowed herself to look around the room, to take in the architecture, the décor, the fabrics and the materials. It was all slightly different, but still similar, and she found that now it didn’t pain her as much to look at it. She admired it.

Shiro groaned. “Don’t remind me… what the hell am I gonna wear? My armour?”

Allura made a disgusted face. “Certainly not!” She shooed him away and stood, opening one of the two cases she’d made sure they brought. “Here we are!”

Shiro blinked. “That’s… I didn’t even know we _had_ that.”

“Of _course_ you have dress uniforms,” she said, as if the very idea of them not having them was both ludicrous and offensive. “We knew how to do things properly on Altea, you know. Go get ready!”  
She threw the tunic at him and turned to her own luggage, knowing exactly what she was going to wear.

* * *

She had to take a moment when she finally saw him in full regalia. He always looked handsome, with his broad shoulders and military bearing, but this was the first time she’d seen him in something other than his armour or casual clothing (naked didn’t count) and… she really _did_ need a moment. He’d slicked back his hair, and was adjusting his right sleeve so it didn’t catch in the joints of his prosthesis. The tunic clung to him, emphasising the sharpness of his muscles and the breadth and bulge of his chest. The leggings were also _sinfully_ tight, his legs long and powerful and in all honesty, all she wanted to do was tear it all off him again.

“Is it ok?” he asked.

“Do you even need to ask?” she said, silently begging the Ancients for strength. Not only was he the handsomest she’d ever seen him, but he was also wearing something _Altean_ , and not for the first time she wished they’d met in a time a which was more carefree, more forgiving.

“Well, I mean, it’s always good to kn-” He stopped mid-sentence, and she raised a curious eyebrow. “ _Wow_ ,” he breathed.

She twirled, unable to resist, her lilac skirts following her movement like the dancing waters of Western Temzora. “I take it my attire is to your liking?” she teased.

He chuckled. “Do you even need to ask?” he said, and the reverence in his voice was humbling. The way he spoke, the simple breathlessness… it made her still, tuck her hair back, her face flushed, shyer than she could remember even being in front of someone who found her attractive. Shiro always did this to her, his sincere adoration breaking down every ounce of confidence she had and building it up again, even stronger than before.

“We should go,” she mumbled, and he offered her the crook of his arm. It took her a tick to understand what he wanted her to do, but she figured it out, and tucked her arm in his.

“Do you think there’ll be dancing?” he asked. “I’m… not a great dancer.”

“If there is, I’ll lead,” she said breezily. “I don’t really know any dances from this planet anyway, we’re going to look ridiculous whatever we do.”

“Yeah, I’m thinking the band won’t know any waltzes,” he said with a laugh.

“ _I_ don’t know what a waltz is, my love,” she replied, and his laughter deepened.

Although the banquet was mostly a discussion of war, Voltron, the Galra and a myriad of other, horrible things, the food was delicious, and Allura could almost lose herself in the laughter and hum of voices in conversation, the soft accompaniment from the musicians, the crystalline chandeliers spilling light through the banquet hall. It was almost like ten thousand years ago, ten Altean lifetimes past when the Castle of Lions would ring with music and mirth, when times were happier.

When she looked to her right, however, whenever she heard his voice or their legs brushed beneath the table, she remembered that ten thousand years ago, there had been no Shiro. It grounded her somewhat, keeping her from chasing memories to where she couldn’t return.

After the banquet, she was invited to dance with the First Elder.

“Do forgive me any clumsiness, I find myself lacking in knowledge of your dances,” she said. The First Elder chuckled courteously.

“Do not worry at all, Princess,” he said. “Our dances are not that difficult.”

Not far from them, Shiro stood with a handful of other Councilmembers, and he would occasionally lose the thread of conversation as he watched her, and their eyes would meet. The First Elder chuckled again, this one with more of a conspiratorial tint.

“He is certainly _handsome_ ,” he said. “And the Black Paladin of Voltron. A wise choice for a spouse, Princess.”

She couldn’t help blushing. “I… Thank you, First Elder,” she stammered, unsure of how to respond.

“We are going through a tumultuous time in the history of the universe,” he said wearily. “Allow yourself to build the foundations of happiness that will come after.”

She looked up at him, and for a fleeting instant, she could see a shadow of skin like hers, hair like hers, a pointed beard and eyes that brimmed with wisdom and kindness. She couldn’t look at him for too long.

The music ceased, ready for another, and a throat was cleared beside them. “Mind if I cut in, Sir?”

The First Elder nodded graciously. “Not at all, Black Paladin.”

Shiro took Allura’s hand with a grin, and she smiled back, unable to stop it. The musicians began another piece, sweeter, gentler, and made for lovers. Shiro’s hand curved around her waist, pulling her closer. Allura gathered her skirt, and let him guide – for all his lack of confidence in his dance skills, he wasn’t bad at all. The dance was simple, a one-two-three that required little concentration, and it let her revel in the moment. It was almost too easy to imagine them in the main hall of the Castle of Lions, dancing to Altean music, surrounded by Altean dancers. He would have been extraordinarily attractive with pointed ears and purple markings, she thought, but then cast the thought aside. There was no Altea anymore, but there were other things: there was Voltron, and Coran, and the other Paladins. There was Shiro’s closeness, his strength and warmth, his touch, his scent, his familiarity. There was the music, and the voices, and the dancers, and it was enough. It was enough to still have points of joy and happiness in the middle of war. The man she loved was with her, what more could she have ever wished for?

“You ok?” he asked softly. She looked at him, a smiled spreading over her face.

“I’m more than ok,” she said, and it was sincere.


	3. June 27th - Memories

Ever since they rediscovered it, she’s been spending much of her time in the library. The books, a hoard of traditional knowledge preserved impeccably for ten thousand years by the environmental stabilisers, are a precious memory of the importance her father placed on their heritage, and of him. She can no longer ask his memories for advice, but perhaps there is advice to be had here, hidden between the shelves, nestled among the pages.

However, and she feels somewhat guilty about it, she finds herself drawn to old novels, beloved tales of childhood and adolescence she remembers daydreaming about. It’s like finding old friends: characters she loves, plots she’s forgotten the details of, little stylistic quirks of her favourite authors. She tries not to think about how they are all long dead, and focus on the familiarity of them, the embrace of the words, soft and comforting.

It’s where she goes when she wants to escape from the endless succession of combat and hardship. And Shiro learns to find her there.

“What are you reading?” he asks, every time. Sometimes she blushes, a little embarrassed to be found reading a children’s book, but he never judges her. On the contrary, he listens intently, remarking on things, picking up on the same details she always did – and some she never considered. And he remembers them outside the library, referencing little shared snippets that make her giggle and confuse the others, in-jokes based on shared knowledge she jealously hoards.

They’ve taken to curling up together on one of the reading couches in the library, his warm weight behind her such a comfort, the only noise to be heard the shared rhythm of their breathing and the soft crisp snap of pages as she turns them. He usually naps, which is something he desperately needs, and she usually just reads, losing herself in worlds that, after so much time and so much strife, she loves to rediscover. It’s peaceful and beautifully intimate, and sometimes she pretends that there’s no war, no Voltron, no Galra, and this is all they ever need to do.

She never reads to him, since translating the nuances of Altean literature would be terribly finicky and give her a headache and the castle’s inbuilt translator wouldn’t be able to share the load, so she just describes the plots and characters. His favourite, so far, is the _Ayzadi the Were-Lion_ series, and Allura’s overjoyed about that, since it was always her favourite too.

“You know, _I’m_ always telling _you_ about my favourite stories,” she says one day, just after she’s finished telling him about the third book. “You should tell me yours.”

They are lying on their usual couch, Shiro’s arms around her as she leans back against him, between his legs. He chuckles.

“I don’t know any Altean stories,” he jokes, and she nudges him playfully.

“No, silly, tell me your favourite Earth stories!” she says. He hums thoughtfully.

“So, like… books or movies?” he asks.

“What are movies?”

“Books it is, then. We’ll talk about movies another time.” He is quiet for a moment, and she waits patiently, oddly excited. It feels like they’re going to share something secret and intimate, something special.

“Well, there’s _The Lord of the Rings_ , I always really liked that one,” he says. She snuggles back against him, looking up hopefully, and he chuckles. “Ok then.”

He tells her about Frodo, Sam and the Ring. He tells her of Gandalf the Grey who became Gandalf the White, of Aragorn, of Legolas and Gimli, Merry and Pippin. He tells her of Éowyn, King Théoden and the Rohirrim, of the Men of Gondor, Lothlórien and Rivendell, and of Mordor. The grand themes are familiar enough: good and evil, darkness and light, the struggle of good people against forces that would take their freedom and their lives. It hits a little close to home.

“I like Aragorn,” she says. “I like how certain he is of his duty. He’s very relatable.”

Shiro laughs. “Well, back on Earth, the Hobbits are the most relatable. The little people thrown into something much bigger than they are. Kind of like me and the other Paladins.”

She purses her lips thoughtfully. “Yes, that’s understandable… I am annoyed by the lack of female characters and characters with other genders, though. Why are there only three women and no, what do you call Pidge?, non-binary characters?”

“Uh, well… back when it was written, no one had really figured out what non-binary was. We… kinda thought your sex dictated your gender.”

Allura turns to stare at him, and he has the decency to look sheepish. “Humans bewilder me,” she says, settling down again, still somewhat perturbed.

“Well, we’re kind of stupid,” he admits with a chuckle. “When Tolkien was writing, women didn’t really have many roles outside being wives and mothers.”

Allura shakes her head in disgust. “And you say this was only one hundred years ago, in Earth years?”

“Yeah… we try not to think of stuff like that,” Shiro admits, his tone slightly gloomy. Allura thinks it’s probably wise to talk of other things.

“Oh, I did like Aragorn and Arwen’s romance!” she says. “It’s… also relatable.”

“Oh? Well, I guess Alteans are kind of like space elves,” Shiro admits. “You guys live longer than we do, right?”

“Our oldest recorded Altean was 4364 Earth years old,” she says. “But we don’t live forever. That seems awful.”

“Yeah, it does. Humans have all these stories about people who live forever, it’s like… we’re desperate for it.”

“Your lives are very fleeting,” Allura says. She takes Shiro’s hand, traces his fingers, the fine scar at the base of his thumb from a childhood cat scratch, twining her slim fingers with his to enjoy the contrast of their skin. She doesn’t dare to state the obvious the knowledge that Shiro’s life is also fleeting, and how she will outlive him so easily. The thought is horrifying, so she chases it away, ignores it, pretends she never had it.

“We do ok with what we have,” he says.

“That’s a positive outlook to have,” she concedes. She turns her head slightly, her nose touching the edge of his collar, feeling the sliver of warmth from his skin. “Are there any more stories you could tell me?”

“Well… there’s a _lot_ of Tolkien to cover,” Shiro says. “He wrote so much. His son was forever finding new bits and pieces in his notes. But there are other things too. There’s _Dune_ , and _Gormenghast_ , and _A Song of Ice and Fire_ … I _think_ I remember all the names.”

“Are there a lot of characters?”

Shiro’s chuckle is slightly strained. “You could say that, yeah.”

“I like Tolkien’s stories. You can continue with those, if you want?”

“I like those too.”

Shiro continues his tales, and Allura listens intently, cradled by the sound of his voice as he weaves the words to half-remembered stories, doubling back, meandering, wandering, stuttering. Maybe one day, when she can see all the things the Paladins describe, she can read these stories for herself. Until then, the rumble of Shiro’s voice and the warmth of his embrace are more than enough.


	4. June 28th - Family

“Hey, Allura…”

She hums, just to let Shiro know she is listening. It’s quiet in her room, in their bed, with her head pillowed on his chest and only the sound of their breathing to break the silence. She is close to drifting off to sleep, her eyes gently closed and her limbs lax.

“Have you… have you ever considered having kids?”

At first, she thinks she’s misheard, but the words jolt her awake, make her rise to look at him.

“What?”

His expression is guilty, and he cannot hold her gaze. He looks away, to the side, his fingers slipping from her waist.

“It’s nothing, never mind…”

“No, no, it’s all right… I just… I wasn’t expecting it.”

She settles back down, leaning on his chest, her chin propped up on her hand. Now that she thinks about it, she has no idea. She’d never considered motherhood before, not even in her wildest dreams, and to think about it now, in the eye of the storm of conflict, is slightly surreal. How could they bring a child into this broken, war-torn universe? What parents could they call themselves if they did that?

“I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it before,” she admits, trying to be tactful. “Have… have _you_?”

Shiro seems to find the courage to look at her again, and his fingertips meet her skin, spots of warmth she’d missed when they’d gone.

“I like kids,” he says, and it sounds vaguely like he’s avoiding a real answer. She pokes him.

“Be sincere,” she orders, and it gets her a chuckle, at least.

“Well… I mean, I _do_ like kids. I guess I always kind of wanted to be a dad? I wanted to have kids, take care of them, raise them, teach them, bring more people into my family.” His wistful look clouds over, shadows of regret falling over him. “Now I’m not so sure.”

As always when he retreats inwards, she reaches out to tuck his hair back, to gently trace his scar with her thumb. When he starts to turn away, to go where she cannot follow, she calls him back as best she can.

“Why the doubt, my love?”

Shiro’s eyes flutter, and he comes back to her, his eyes seeing her again. “I… I don’t know. Maybe it’s because of, you know…” He flexes the fingers of his prosthetic, taps his temple. That makes her scowl.

“I fail to see how your trauma could affect your ability to be a good father,” she says.

“I could… you’ve seen what it can get like. What if I did something that-”  
“Are you forgetting _I’d_ be there?”

His eyes widen, almost as if he hadn’t factored her into the equation in the slightest. It hurts, but she quashes the pain for a time more apt to addressing it. Shiro has a tendency to forget that he is her _arlnath_ , sometimes, and that means she will be with him for as long as she can.

“I would be there, and I would keep both you and our child safe,” she murmurs, cupping his cheek. “What good would I be as a mother and a lover if I couldn’t protect either of you?”

Shiro closes his eyes, tight, pressing his hand to Allura’s, keeping her warmth touch close. She can see the tremor of his chin and the crease of his brow, the faint shine of a tear threatening to fall. She leans forward, presses her lips to his, to let him know he is never alone.

“So, you’d… you’d want to have children? With _me_?”

To her, it is a foolish question, one that barely requires an answer because it is so obvious, but Shiro doubts, and she knows he doesn’t mean to.

“I… I must admit, I never thought of it before now, but…” She allows herself to imagine a time when the war is over, when the universe is free and at peace and they can build a home together, wherever they wish. She imagines a child, with his nightsky hair and her eyes and it’s an image so humbling and yet so uplifting it almost steals her breath. “I would happily create a new life with you, Shiro.”  
He finally smiles, as if she’s given him the greatest gift she ever could. “Are we even compatible? Biologically?”

She smirks. “Alteans are compatible with almost every species that reproduces via intercourse. So yes, I _definitely_ think we are.”

He laughs at that, and his laughter is always the most welcome of sounds.

“Well, that’s good, then,” he says, and he sounds lighter, less weighed down by everything. “You gotta admit, we’d make some damn fine kids.”

It’s her turn to laugh, and she does, sniggering behind her hand. “Oh, certainly… but only if they had my ears. I wouldn’t wish these hideous things on anyone.” She reaches out and tugs on his for emphasis. She still finds them terribly bizarre. She catches herself staring at them, sometimes, bewildered at their round shape and tiny size. How can they even hear with those things?

“My ears are perfectly fine, you,” he mutters, but he cannot mask his grin with faux-annoyance. “I’d like for them to have your eyes, though. They’re so pretty.”  
She smiles at that. “Your hair, I do love how dark it is. I’d love for our children to have that.”

“So… would you want more than one?”

There is a stutter in her mind then: the laughter of children, a rainbow of hair hues and facial markings, playing together. Children that could never grow up, who’d seen so little of life.

“I’m not sure yet,” she admits, biting her lip. “We should start with one.” She toys with the idea of keeping her thoughts to herself, but… but that’s not what a relationship is, is it? “I… I’ll admit that before we lost Altea, I never thought about it. But now… now I wonder whether I have a duty?”

“Allura… don’t. Don’t think of it as something you _have_ to do. I wouldn’t want our kid to think they weren’t wanted.”

She gives him a horrified look. “Never! _Never_ , Shiro! What do you take me for?” She shakes her head. “No, I would _want_ this child. _Our_ child. I’d never…” Her hand trembles as it goes to her stomach, flattens upon it. “I’m not trying to repopulate the universe, I want to make a family with you!”

He winds his arms around her, pulling her close. He kisses the tip of her nose. “I know. I… I want that too.”

She closes her eyes, sighing. Now that thinks about it, she wants it terribly. And perhaps… perhaps it is good to think of what the future can bring, if only to get them through this alive.


	5. June 29th - Grief

It doesn’t take too long for Shiro to realise Allura is as broken as he is.

He envies her composure, her strength, her unwavering determination, at first. She has it together, more than he ever will, and he’s grateful for the fact he doesn’t have to shoulder the burden of leadership on his own. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, when has he ever? He may be an adult, but he never really felt like one, and now he feels older, but even more lost. His time in the Arena has added years, even as it stole one away. Allura, though… Allura knows what she’s doing. She’s confident, certain, controlled, and everything Shiro wishes he was in this situation. He wants to know what to do, but she does know what to do, and it’s such a _relief_.

Even when they start this… _thing_ , she appears to have it sorted. She’s a master at not revealing it to the rest of the team, sneaking around behind their backs like it’s something to be ashamed of, but he finds himself wishing he could develop such a detachment to what they have even as his remaining hand longs to thread its fingers with hers in front of everyone and murmur his affection in subtle displays. But he keeps himself together because she keeps herself together, and for a while, it’s not _great_ , but it’s _fine_.

It’s only once they’re finally in this for the long haul, together, with words of love and loyalty exchanged, that the cracks begin to show in her façade.

He finds her in the hologram room which once housed King Alfor’s AI. She sits there, legs tucked beneath her, back to the door, and so distant she might as well be a hundred lightyears away and ten thousand years ago. There is still some shattered glass around, like scattered diamonds. He steps forward, his heart aching, his tread light but present so as not to take her by surprise.

“Allura?” he murmurs, kneeling beside her, placing his hand on her shoulder.

It’s like she’s being dragged back up from the depths: she re-emerges from the ocean of memories, taking a breath like she’s breaching the surface, and she turns to him. Her eyes barely see him, still very far away, and her smile is placid, a little disconcerting.

“Sorry, Shiro. I was miles away.”

He smiles comfortingly. “It’s ok. It’s late, shall we go to bed?”

She nods, slow and uncertain at first, before her movement gains in strength. Her smile broadens, brightens, but her eyes have yet to regain their sparkle.

“Of course.”

He takes her by the hand, walks slowly, keeps respectfully quiet, and his heart breaks anew when he sees her glance over her shoulder at the shards of all that is left of what was once her father.

* * *

She never strays often, but when she does, she strays achingly far. He knows that when his mind takes over, envelops him, begins to clog his brain with memories real and false and painful, he goes very far away, but Allura… Shiro’s disappearances are confined to a year: Allura vanishes to ten millennia ago.

And it’s not just these moments of distance, where a chasm opens between them and he has to walk a high wire with no safety net to get to her, it’s cacophonous bursts of horror during the night. He has his own to deal with, and her presence is a comfort that has settled his screaming mind as it tries to rattle the cage of his mind, but hers are insidious, and very different to his own.

Sometimes, the most frequent times, she wakes up, face streaked with tears, sobbing, from dreams of her lost homeworld. She says things in Altean the translator won’t capture, lying on her back, staring at the ceiling, hands trembling as they clutch at her chest. Her markings glow, her eyes are dull, and she’s in a trance that is a whirlwind of things she can never have back. When these times happen, he can only wait, feeling powerless, murmuring empty words of comfort, stroking her hair and trying to coax her back to him like a skittish deer.

Other times, she tosses and turns and whimpers, awakening with a cry and he has to fight to keep her with him, to remind her that Altea is no longer burning and its people no longer scream in the flames, long reduced to ashes. And when she remembers, when the knowledge of the ten thousand years between this moment and the day her people all died, she cries: she buries her face in his chest, clinging to him, younger and more afraid than he’s ever seen her, sobbing desperately. These times are fewer, thank God, but they’re there. They happen, when the weight of her loneliness is as crushing as the void, but they’re fewer. They only occur when she’s been reminded of Altea and the fact it’s gone, the family and friends gone with it.

Shiro has his own demons: they haunt him, stalk him in the day ready to tear his psyche to shreds at night, and they’re painful. But he isn’t alone: he isn’t one of only three left, one of which can barely be counted. Earth is still there, the little blue planet on the edge of the universe with its eight billion people, still a tiny, bright, living, breathing speck in the infinite. Allura is alone: there is Coran, and there’s the witch, but there is no one else. And what was left of Altea, the ashes of an entire civilisation, has dispersed into the vacuum of space long, long ago. Shiro can’t imagine what that even feels like.

But she is always there for him, when the weight of existence knocks the air from his lungs during the night and spreads darkness in his head that leaks from his pores, and so he’s always going to be there for her. If he wasn’t, he’d been a shitty friend and an even poorer boyfriend. So he’ll hold her. He’ll put his own demons on hold by sheer force of will while she fights hers, but it hurts to see her attempt to keep it inside, to see her try to remain strong when her bones are brittle and her resolve is crumbling.

* * *

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks once, after she is calmer, after she can breathe without panting and the tears have dried.

“About… about what?” she croaks, her voice raspy and strained.

“Just… Altea?”

She pulls away just enough to look at him, her eyes red and puffy. She blinks quickly, as if she’d never even considered that a possibility.

“I…” She reaches up to scrub at her cheeks with the heel of her hand. It takes her a while to figure out how words work, and how she can make them fit with what she wants to say. “Yes,” she breathes. “I do.”

Shiro settles them down. He cradles her close, forehead pressed to hers, arms around her, needing to remind her she is safe and secure. He waits, as long as she needs, and then she starts talking.

She tells him of her father, and her mother, and Coran, her tutors and friends. She tells him of childhood pets. She tells him of adventures and mischief she got into, that make him laugh, and of sad moments, of little flickers of loss that with hindsight seem so insignificant, which make him sad for her.

She speaks of prior lovers, of royal duties and moments she could snatch to just be Allura, a young Altean with hopes and dreams and likes and dislikes. She tells him of when her mother died. She tells him of when Coran came into her and her father’s lives. She tells him of Zarkon, and how they trusted him. She tells him of the Lions, of Voltron, of Altea’s nature and its cities and flora and fauna and festivals.

She tells him of Altea, the only remnant of it her memories and the castleship around them, until her voice is sore and she has to stop, until she’s falling asleep with exhaustion.

“Thank you,” she mumbles, nuzzling into his neck drowsily.

“You’re welcome,” he murmurs back, kissing her forehead.

The next morning, it feels like she is close again. She is tangible and beside him, the shell of the woman he loves once again filled with the bright, beautiful essence of her soul and mind. She sits on the edge of their bed, hair cascading down her bare back, looking at her hands on her legs. He gently moves her hair, kisses her shoulder, and for the first time in a while, she looks _at_ him, not _through_ him. She smiles, and her eyes are brighter, like the stars he saw when she first stepped from the cryopod.

“Feeling better?” he asks, soft, afraid to break the spun-glass moment. She nods, leans into him, pressing their foreheads together.  
“Much better,” she says, her voice still rough. She takes his hand and sighs. “I’m sorry, Shiro.”

“Don’t apologise,” he says fiercely. “You were hurting.”

She places a hand to her chest, over her heart. “I don’t think it will ever _stop_ ,” she says. “But… it isn’t hurting as _much_.”

He understands. She will still cry. She will still mourn. She will still wake up the names of the lost on her lips and salt-tracks on her cheeks, but she will no longer be in a place he cannot reach.

“Thank you,” she says, winding her arms around his neck, her body soft, smooth and warm against his. His arms encircle her, holding her close, and their kiss is soft, more than chaste, but it is full of gratitude and affection and Shiro holds it dear.

“You’re welcome,” he replies, again, like the night before, the unspoken assurance that he would do it forever if he needed to more than understood.


End file.
